


Dreams of the Prophetic Kind

by SixthSeason



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Black Protagonist, Couch Cuddles, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Non-binary character, Other, pining (sort of), violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixthSeason/pseuds/SixthSeason
Summary: Sans' POV in Chapter 28 of Don't Shoot the Messenger





	Dreams of the Prophetic Kind

_**h** urry up. _

 

_Sans turned to find Casey following behind him a fair distance. They walked. They weren’t running like he was. They didn’t even seem to notice the lingering darkness that was quickly closing in behind them. For every step Casey took, it got even closer and closer. He urged them to look behind them. They did. The darkness disappeared when they looked. He told them to get away. They told him they were fine. That they would deal with it. When he tried to turn back to help them, he was pushed away as he neared, remaining where he was._

 

_hurry up. don’t stand there. run._

 

_Casey stopped altogether when two hands from the darkness reached forward and pulled them in. Their mouth opened to shout, but no sound came out. They tried to run, but the hands held them fast. Their eyes went lackluster as they realized they were trapped. They stopped fighting._

 

_don’t quit. keep fighting. you can make it._

 

_They stopped. And the moment they did, the shine of a blade could be seen behind them as it went right through them, the tip appearing below their diaphragm and cutting downward easily. Sans burst through whatever was holding him back to try and help them, but the darkness around them was thick. He dug the tips of his fingers into it and started clawing, trying to free them. Slowly, they fell deeper and deeper into the darkness before it consumed them whole._

_give them back. you can’t take them._ **_No_ ** _._

* * *

 

He jolted upright in bed. Whatever breath held in his chest was expelled with a panicked _woosh_ through his nasal cavity and his mouth. His soul ached as it thrummed in his chest. Belatedly, he noticed his fingers still tightly curled into the fabric of the mattress, buried so deep that it succeeded in tearing it; exposing one of the springs. He brought the hand out of the ruined mattress and to his face, trying to shake out the remnants of the nightmare from his memory.

Beside him, he heard a sigh. Immediately, he leaned over Casey, eyes trailing the length of their body. Nothing. No wounds. They were safe. Safe...He reaches for their shoulder, his hand hovering for a moment before he pulled it away. No, they were safe. They were...weren’t they?

As carefully as he could, he crawled over them and got up out of the bed, leaving the room and heading downstairs. Immediately, he heads for the kitchen and pulling out whatever bottle he can find in the liquor cabinet. Scotch. The one Casey had given him after he got them home when they got jumped all that while ago.

He groaned, taking the bottle over to the sofa. Turning on the lamp, he laid himself out, pulling the top off of the bottle and taking a swig as he stared at the ceiling. His soul still ached, and his mind still buzzed with the fresh memory of the nightmare.

Why was this one any different than the others? He dreamed about people dying all the time. Friends, family, enemies. It was a part of the job. Death was to be expected in the Mafia. It was something that one brought home. He was seasoned enough to not let those nightmares bother him. He’d trained himself to forget them the moment he awoke from them.

But the others never made his soul hurt. No matter how graphic they got. But this one…

No. He could not allow himself to get worked up over this. It was a nightmare like any other. It would pass in time. He takes the bottle of scotch again and takes another drink, setting it down on the floor. He had to ground himself. His palms rests over his eye sockets, and he tries to think of anything...everything but the nightmare.

His progress was halted, however when he heard a door upstairs open followed by another one closing. The faucet from the upstairs bathroom started to run for a moment, before the door opening again.

The floor creaked moments later , and he looked up to find Casey standing there in….one of his shirts. Had the circumstances been different, he would have found the sight hilarious. Endearing, even. It was massive on them. It draped everywhere, and the hem reached past their knees.

“....what’re ya wearin’?”

They looked somewhat embarrassed.“...A shirt. Your shirt.”

He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease them. To try and lighten the mood a little. “wow...ya look fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Casey rolled their eyes. “They’re pajamas. Garments worn for sleeping. Doesn’t matter how they look.”

“‘s way too big.”

“It was all I had. My other pajamas got ruined, so this was the only other option. Or sleep naked.”

Sans grinned at them. “i wouldn’t mind the second option.”

“Neither would I. Except there’s an exposed spring in the bed. And I’m not keen on getting stabbed and cut up all over.”

Shit. So much for forgetting the nightmare. Not only that, the subject of his nightmare was now standing in front of him, awake because of something that he caused. No doubt, they’d want to know why, too.  “...yeah. that’s...yeah, my fault. had a nightmare.”

They had made their way over to him, seating themself on the sofa next to him. “What was it about? If you don’t mind my asking.”

There it was.  How could he come out and say something like “I dreamt you died right in front of my eyes”? They had enough to worry about as was. They didn’t need to know. Besides, it was just a dream. It was over now.  He was awake, they were awake, and they weren’t hurt.

He shrugged, trying to be as vague as possible, but he was tense. “usual shit. people dyin’.”

“That’s...damn.”

“mmm.” He took the bottle and started to peel at the label. A weight pressed into his upper arm as Casey leaned into him, their back now flush against his arm.

“Some psychologists say that if you dream about death or dying, that means your brain is warning you that change is likely to happen.”

“really?” He looked up at them from the corner of his eye socket. “where’d ya hear that?”

“Psychology course back in college.” They took the bottle from his hand and took a drink before offering it back.

He took the bottle back, raising a brow bone. “ya never mentioned that ya went to college.”

“Didn’t feel the need to. Plus...the outcome wasn’t ideal.”

Now he was curious. “which was…?”

They looked away from him.  “Flunked out. Wasted everyone’s time and money.” Their laugh was forced and bitter. “You can imagine how overjoyed my Uncle was. ‘No nursing degree for Casey? You’re a failure in every aspect of life’!”

He snorted. Of course their Uncle would make a big fucking deal over that. “big talk. where the fuck’s _his_ degree?”

“Framed in his office at the station. PhD in law, and a Masters in criminal justice.”

Well, fuck. “oh.”

“Yep. Double major. So I had, as he said, ‘no excuse’. At the time, I thought he was right. Still find myself thinking that from time to time.” They took the bottle from him again. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to prattle like that.”

“ah, don’t worry about it.” He gave his hand a wave. “rather ya prattle than sit down here gettin’ drunk alone because of a stupid nightmare.” They shifted a little bit where they lay against him, and he scooted over to give them a bit more room to get comfortable. He moved a bit too quickly and they fell onto their back onto the couch cushions. Casey didn’t seemed bothered, though. Not soon after, they sat up and readjusted their position to where they leaned into his side.

“Glad I could help.”

Funny. Earlier his soul had been aching, but the moment they leaned against him, the pain had eased up. It still remained, but it was far more tolerable than it had been. A part of him wanted to manifest his soul, to see what its shape was in, but he couldn’t do that with Casey around, lest they get the wrong idea.

_would it be so wrong? they’ve already seen it once. what would one more time be?_

Thank God they were facing away from him, because those stray thoughts brought a scowl to his face as he quickly tried to clamp down on the mental image of him willingly baring his soul to them. And that image quickly snowballed into Casey touching his soul. They almost did several nights ago. What would have happened if hadn’t pushed away their hand---

Casey’s fingers brushed against his arm, and they gestured for the bottle. He handed it to them, looking everywhere but them. “so, whaddya doin’ up?”

“Had a nightmare, too. Strange one.”

He looked down at them. “about what?”

They went quiet for a moment. “Something kept poking me in the back. It was sharp.” Sans was about to suggest it was simply the spring in the mattress before they continued. “Every time I moved it did too, but then it kept poking me harder. I had almost gotten away from it, and then….someone pulled me back.”

 _….They stopped altogether when two hands from the darkness reached forward and pulled them in. Their mouth opened to shout, but no sound came out. They tried to run, but the hands held them fast…._   
“And I got impaled on it.”

_....They stopped. And the moment they did, the shine of a blade could be seen behind them as it went right through them, the tip appearing below their diaphragm and cutting downward easily._

It couldn’t have been coincidence. For Casey to have a nightmare similar to his had to have meant something for them. Not what they had suggested about change earlier; but whatever it was, it was bad. And what bothered Sans the most is that he didn’t know what it was. And since he didn’t know what it was, he was powerless to stop it until he knew. He didn’t want anything to happen. Not to Casey. Not to his friend.

His soul felt as if it was collapsing in on itself with how tight it had gotten. It was as if an invisible box had appeared around it and was growing smaller and smaller, crushing his soul in his ribcage. He had begun to shake, and he tensed so hard to the point of pain. All at once, the memory of the nightmare hit him full force, as well as other memories. Memories of people dying in the most gruesome ways. His mind spared nothing as it placed Casey in every one of those scenarios in graphic detail. He was forced to live it, to see it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t---

“Sans. Sans?”

He’s being shaken. Two soft, brown hands cover his shoulders. They were looking into his eyes. They looked worried. Concerned. Their hands found his jaw and they leaned in close, just centimeters away from his face. “Sans, can you hear me?

He blinks once. Twice. He wants to tell them what he had just witnessed in his mind. Who his dream was about. Who he saw dying right in front of his eyes. But the only thing that can come out is a soft; “‘s you.”

“Yeah. It’s me, I’m here.”

How could he be so sure? For all he knew, this was yet another nightmare. Maybe he hadn’t woken up at all. God, were they---His hands go up the front and back of their nightshirt, and he begins to feel around. No wounds. Nothing sharp entering through their back and out of their abdomen. Nothing bled. No broken skin. Just the rise and fall of their chest as they breathed and the steady rhythm of their heartbeat.

Their heartbeat. They were alive. He sighed, relieved, pulling them close as if they were going to disappear the moment he let go. His skull rests on their chest, and he closes his eye sockets, allowing the feel and sound of their heartbeat to ground him.

Casey returned the embrace, hugging his neck and leaning all of their weight into him, pushing him down on the sofa before climbing on top of him. The pressure of their weight brought some comfort, and soon, he found himself drawing in breaths to match theirs.

Look at him. An infamous mafia ringleader snuggling up to another mafia member because of a fucking nightmare. He kept his face buried into their chest to hide the fact that his face was a bright red right now. But it was no time to be prideful, but damn him for being so vulnerable.

After a while, he spoke.

“casey.”

“Yeah?”

“don’t…” _don’t leave me. not now. i need you here. can you stay?_ “....don’t tell anyone about this.”

They snorted. “I promise. I won’t tell anyone the big bad Sans has feelings.”

He fell silent, and he gave them another squeeze.

“casey?”

“Yeah?”

“....don’t ya fuckin’ die, either.”

“I won’t.”  



End file.
